


Fruits of Our Transgressions

by junes_discotheque



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/pseuds/junes_discotheque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an inept villain gets the drop on him, Tony wakes up in SHIELD custody. Turns out, that battle happened a year ago--and in the interim, Tony's quit the Avengers and run off with Loki. As Tony tries to put together the pieces of a time he can't remember and a man he never thought he could be, he starts to discover some uncomfortable truths. About Loki, about the Avengers, and about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s two months after Thor drags Loki back to Asgard and they all go their separate ways that the call comes in. It’s not fate-of-the-world, no massive armies or alien visitors. Just one guy with magic and a need to prove himself. Tony’s pretty sure any one of them could’ve handled the guy on their own, but maybe Fury just wanted to see who would actually answer the call. (Answer: All of them, minus Thor, since they still haven’t figured out a way to communicate between realms.)

The guy calls himself _The Amazing Vivinni._ Tony vaguely recognizes the name from a marquee in the shadier part of Vegas.  Stage magician who got his hands on some real power.

 _Kind_ of.

It’d be a lot more impressive if the guy could actually control it, rather than letting the power fizzle out every few seconds.

Tony’s amusing himself by throwing random objects at Vivinni’s head. Steve’s attempting hand-to-hand and shouting at Tony after an umbrella nearly takes out his shoulder. Clint and Natasha are attempting to shoot patterns into Vivinni’s cape. Hulk got distracted by a flock of geese that had the misfortune to fly into his face and rampaged off—Tony expects to see reports of goose mutilations on the news tonight.

All in all, it’s going pretty well. No one’s hurt, except Vivinni’s dignity and Steve’s shoulder (which, he really should stop whining, the umbrella barely grazed him).  Tony can pay for the damages to the little café on the corner. And once Steve decides he’s had enough of their antics, he’ll cuff the guy and drag him back to S.H.I.E.L.D. where he’ll get a slap on the wrist and anger-management classes.

A flash of green catches Tony’s eye as he’s about to hurl a croissant at the magician, and he turns, distracted. Below, Steve shouts something, and above, Clint and Natasha shout something else, and there’s the faint roar of an approaching Hulk. Tony can’t see anything but a bright light dangling in the sky in front of his face like—like he’s flown right under a streetlamp—only he _knows_ he hasn’t because 1) he’s not that stupid and 2) he’s a bit too high up for lamps. The pastries and plastic chairs fall from his arms. He never hears them hit the ground. _Odd._

More screaming.

There’s a sound like tearing fabric.

Then Vivinni laughs. He says something that might be “there, my debt is clear” and might also be “dear, your death is near”. Tony’s head is spinning.

Finally— _finally finally finally_ —it stops. The sky is clear and the green glint is gone, and Tony turns around, ready to actually take the guy seriously. _Nobody_ fucks with Tony Stark’s brain.

But what he sees instead are iron bars, and behind them, his five teammates, looking on with worry and fear.

“Hey guys, some dream,” Tony says, chuckling weakly. “So how’d we all end up in jail this time? And why haven’t we broken out?”

None of them will look at him. Well, that’s weird. But even _weirder_ is the guy standing next to Bruce. Tony’s pretty sure that’s the Amazing Vivinni. Or some guy they met at a bar and wormed his way into Tony’s dreams.

“Guys?”

“What do you remember?” Steve asks. “The last thing you remember.”

Tony furrows his brow. “I remember kicking that guy’s ass,” he says, pointing to Vivinni. “Not that hard, by the way, you might want to actually figure out how to use your power before you try taking over anything larger than your fashion sense. But I’m not 100% sure that wasn’t a dream.”

“Do you know the date?”

Now, that one’s a little stranger. “Well, I dunno how long I’ve been out, but when I got knocked on the head it was August 27th. Why?”

“Of what year?”

Okay, _definitely_ something not right here. Tony shakes his head and, for the first time, takes in his surroundings. He’s in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell. He has a blanket and a pillow and his wrists and ankles are chained. The others look like hell—Clint has a scar Tony doesn’t remember him getting, Natasha’s favoring her right leg, Steve’s costume is definitely not the same one Tony saw before Vivinni hit him, Bruce has dark circles under his eyes and looks skinnier than ever, and Thor kind of looks like he wants to cry.

Tony shifts uncomfortably. “2012,” he says quietly. “Right?”

Steve sighs. It might be relief. Good, Tony thinks. He’s not brain damaged. He’ll get a clean bill of health and he’ll get released. He’s only chained up here because he was having a fit, he reasons. He’ll be out of here in—

“It’s 2013, Tony,” Steve says. “October. It seems you forgot more than a year.”

—or not.

Thor shoves himself away from Tony’s cell, nearly throws a guard against the wall, and flees.

“I’m guessing there’s a bit more to it than just memory loss,” Tony says.

They still won’t look at him. Tony’s stomach drops.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Not yet, Tony,” Steve says. “It’s—there’s still a few things—well. But soon. I promise we’ll tell you soon.”

Tony laughs and rolls over on his cot, pulling his blankets tightly around him. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

“We will.”

He closes his eyes and tries to block out Steve’s pleas, the grinding of the air conditioner, the muffled sobs of a god in the hallway. He thinks he’s going to be sick, then wonders when the last time he ate was. When they’ll bring him food. _If_ they’ll bring him food.

Tony listens to their footsteps as his team leaves, one by one, until he’s alone but for the sound of his own breaths. His ARC reactor glows brightly, the only light in the dark prison, turning his arms blue. The sight used to comfort him, but all he feels now is an ache, bone-deep and echoing with emotional turmoil that’s not his own.

_October 2013._

He wonders if he and Pepper are still together.

If the rest of the Avengers agreed to move into Stark Tower.

If they even _are_ still the Avengers. For all he knows they split up until whatever accident landed Tony in S.H.I.E.L.D. prison with a year-long gap in his brain. What a way to bring them back together.

“Well, this is something,” a familiar voice says. Tony freezes, just for a moment, then rolls over and fixes the intruder with a glare. The man’s standing _inside_ his cell, examining his nails with a kind of bored grace, and he raises an eyebrow when he meets Tony’s stunned gaze.

“How did you—”

The man rolls his eyes. “ _Really_ , dear, I can’t _believe_ this still shocks you.” He holds out a hand. “Now, let’s get out of here before security notices the breach. Imprisonment is so terribly boring and I have big plans for us tonight.”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“ _Our anniversary_?” he says.

“What?” Tony asks, dumbfounded. _What?_

He’s still trying to process when about a dozen fully-armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents burst through the door.

And Loki, who looks almost _hurt,_ vanishes in a swirl of black and green leather.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the fantastic comments! I know the chapters are pretty short right now, but they will get longer as the story progresses.

The agents don’t leave. They _do_ lower their weapons, mostly, but Tony knows an itchy trigger finger when he sees it. Even though Loki’s _gone,_ which unnerves him. No more than Loki being there in the first place, but still. The whole situation’s not exactly something Tony’s comfortable with.

His cell door swings open and Steve walks in, letting it shut behind him. Tony raises an eyebrow. “Sure you want to be alone with me?” he asks. “Seems like the guys with guns are a little more apprehensive.”

“I don’t have a gun, Tony,” Steve says. He sits on the bench next to him and starts checking him. _Manhandling_ him is more accurate. Steve lifts up Tony’s shirt and tries to examine his ribs.

Tony twists away from Steve’s grip and glares. “Stop it. I’m _fine._ See? Undamaged.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “I just want to make sure—do you feel like yourself?”

“Like—” He stops. A feeling of dread runs through him like a bucket of ice has been dumped on his head.  “Was Loki mind-controlling me?” he asks. “Is that why I don’t… why I don’t remember the past year?”

Steve’s  hand hovers above Tony’s arm. “Yeah. I mean, we can’t tell for sure,” he says, staring at his feet, “but we think he was. We think you lost your memories after we broke his control, and that’s why you don’t remember.” He sounds more confident, but Tony still feels like he’s missing a _big_ piece of the story.

“So, okay, Loki said something about _anniversary_. So, what, today’s one year since he figured out a way to bypass the ARC reactor?”

“Something like that,” Steve says. Tony crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m _fine,_ ” he insists.

“Director Fury will want to interr—debrief you,” Steve says. “Even though you lost your memory, there are ways of retrieving certain things.”

“Whatever.” He wants Steve to get _out._ This Steve who looks at him like the first time they met, like Tony’s nothing so much as dirt on his shield. Before Tony managed to prove his worth. He wonders what the others think of him. He wonders what he’s _done._

Steve seems to get the message, as he pushes himself off the bench and makes for the door. One of the guards steps out of line and opens it for him. Steve stops.

“Tony?” he says, turning back and staring at Tony’s feet. _Look at my face, dammit,_ Tony thinks. “It _is_ good to have you back.”

Tony gives him a slight, jerky nod in acknowledgement. Great. But the question still eats at him— _back from where?_

He fiddles with the cuffs around his wrists. His skin is slightly red from chafing, and it itches, and Tony _hates_ being chained.

“They do so like their dungeon classic.”

Tony glances up to see Loki, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor with his hands folded neatly in his lap. His back is straight and regal, his head held high, but there’s a slight waver in his voice and his eyes are shaded. Tony wants to ask why he’s back, why he came at all, why he vanished and why Steve won’t look at him.

“What did you mean it’s our anniversary?” Tony asks instead. Loki’s serene expression falters.

“I—” He stops and frowns. “The Captain said—he said I was mind-controlling you, right? I heard. I heard him speaking with you.”

Tony nods. “Yeah, I mean, I’m guessing there’s more to it than that, but, that’s what Steve said. So, what, today’s one year since you made me your bitch?”

Loki flinches. “Not exactly,” he mutters, looking insulted and a little guilty. “I wouldn’t—” He stops again and Tony kind of wants to throttle the guy, force him to finish a goddamn sentence. “No. It’s—kinder, I think.” He stands up and walks toward him. Tony draws back, but despite Loki towering over him, he… doesn’t feel afraid. It’s strange. “Your Captain’s right, Tony,” Loki continues. His voice is steady. “One year ago I perfected a means of getting around your ARC reactor and bending your will to mine.” He draws one finger across the blue center of Tony’s heart. “You were—you were my _slave._ But now it is broken.”

“Why don’t you just recast it?” Tony asks. Loki jerks his hand away from the reactor and Tony feels a little colder.

“I’ve grown weary of you,” Loki says. “You were not as entertaining a pet as I had been led to believe. Foolish; my own fault, really. I should have known you would never provide the kind of… _entertainment_ I desired.”

 

Tony feels like he’s going to be sick. Loki’s not looking too great himself. But it’s not—it’s not Loki’s words that make him want to heave onto the floor. He doesn’t know where it came from, but he can’t shake the feeling of _betrayal_ that crawls up his arms and digs into his skin _._

 

“So, what then?” Tony asks. “Are you going to kill me?”

 

Loki snorts, brow furrowed and eyes cast down. “You’re not worth slavery, what makes you think you’d be worth death?” he says. “No, you’ll—if you can get them to trust you again, trust you’re not _compromised_ anymore, they’ll welcome you back. They fought so hard to take you from me. Lost so much in the effort to give you back your mind. It’s a gift, Tony, this second chance.”

“A gift?”

“I could have made you remember.” _Lies. All of it, lies._ But Tony’s not so sure. “Instead, I allowed them to wipe your mind. You remember nothing. All is as it was, or it soon will be.”

Tony buries his face in his hands. “Great. So, regain their trust. After I did a lot of probably terrible things I can’t remember.”

“ _Very_ terrible. Downright _wicked,_ ” Loki forces a laugh. The sound twists at Tony’s guts.

“They’ll tell you, eventually, everything you did in my employ. And they won’t lie. _Heroes_ never lie. Villains, on the other hand…” He readjusts his gauntlet. “We lie all the time. And I am the worst of them, Tony. No matter what happens, _don’t forget that._ ”

Tony smirks. “Oh, I won’t,” he says. It’s true—whatever plots lesser villains may concoct, there is always Loki. Loki, who is so very dangerous simply because Tony knows if Loki wanted them all dead, they would be. The fact that Loki doesn’t kill them… because he likes having someone to play with… well, that’s not really something Tony’s used to.

“Good. One more thing.” Loki hesitates before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “Don’t open this yet,” he says.

“When should I?”

“When…” Loki frowns. “When the time is right, I think.”

“Vague. Awesome.” Loki looks slightly annoyed but hands Tony the box anyway.

“I do you a kindness, Stark,” he says, fading from view. “Don’t waste it.”

Then he disappears entirely, and through his dissolving atoms, Tony can see Loki’s brother—big, distraught, and gripping his hammer like he’s prepared to turn the bars of Tony’s cell into dust.

Or do the same with Tony’s bones.

He smiles weakly. “No offense, but it’s been a—terrifying? Yeah, let’s go with that. Terrifying day. I’d like to sleep.”

"Of course," Thor responds. He lowers the hammer and stands at attention. Guarding him. Tony sighs and figures it's probably the best he's going to get. He lies down on the hard cell bench, pillowing his head in his arms, and tries to make his mind stop racing.


	3. Chapter 3

From what Tony’s seen, S.H.I.E.LD. has three levels of interrogation. There might be more, but he’s fairly sure it’s divided between Standard, Intense, and Enhanced. He’s currently in a Standard-level room, which is—promising, he supposes. It means whatever has his team (still his team? Never his team? No longer his team?) so jumpy can’t be that bad.

Or it _is_ that bad, and they just trust that his memory’s gone. Which it _is._

Mostly.

Oh, he definitely doesn’t remember anything. Not so much a giant blank space as a seamless jump. Like he blinked and the world changed. Which, actually, since he’s only seen the inside of a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell and, briefly, his slightly more battered teammates, he has no idea if the world really has changed or not. Any more than might be expected, anyway. And then there’s Loki, who seems to be the source of the _almost remembering_.

It’s just—flashes. Emotions. Odd twinges in his stomach that feel like guilt, only twisted. A bitter anger that isn’t his. A floating sensation that reminds him a little bit of being drunk (and all the awful feelings he associates with that). _Familiarity._

The whole thing makes Tony feel kind of sick. His mind—it’s all he has. He’s not a god, or a super-soldier, or a gifted spy, or capable of turning into an unstoppable beast. He has his mind, and that’s _it._ It’s enough because it has to be. He has nothing to fall back on. And the fact that someone’s been _messing_ with it, been digging around in there and screwing with his memories makes Tony’s blood run cold.

Not only that, but the idea that he’d been _mind-controlled—_

Which would explain the warm feelings he’d been having towards Loki. Tony had hacked Clint’s psych eval (standard security measures, not going to have a potential sleeper agent in Stark Tower, morbid curiosity, Tony is _awful,_ he knows) and remembers the way Clint had described his utter _devotion_ to his master. Clint had loved him. Which was so many kinds of fucked up. But that’s—it’s close enough, he thinks, that it could fit the echoes Tony’s been feeling towards Loki. It’s not _exact,_ but the method had been different and he’d been under longer and _what else could it be?_

He drums his fingers on the table. Tony’s watched enough procedurals at 3am while working through a mental block to know how this works. Fury’s letting him sweat. What the point of that is, Tony doesn’t know (he doesn’t know _anything_ ) but Fury’s never been the most trusting guy. Tony says he remembers nothing, Fury assumes he’s lying. Tony doesn’t take it personally.

The camera on the ceiling swivels around, and Tony waves at it. Then he turns and waves at the mirror-window. “Hello?” he calls. “Can we get on with it?”

He knows what Fury’s doing, leaving him here. That doesn’t mean he has to stand for it. Particularly when he doesn’t know anything Fury can possibly interrogate out of him.

Finally, _finally,_ the door opens. Fury sweeps in, expression entirely neutral. He’s followed by Agent Hill, who watches him with suspicion she doesn’t bother to disguise.

“Director. Agent.”

“Mr. Stark,” Fury says, sliding into the chair opposite him and folding his hands on the table. Hill takes out a folder and starts leafing through the contents. “The Captain says you retain no memories of anything past Vivinni’s attack in August of 2012.”

“Yep,” Tony says. “All blank. Care to enlighten me? I don’t really like the idea that I was walking around doing things but I can’t remember what those things were. For all I know they could be embarrassing or damaging or both and that’s not really something the Avengers need, right?”

Fury leans in. “Let’s just say we’ve gotten very, _very_ good at damage control in the past year,” he says. “You might want to thank Captain Rogers; he’s taken more than one blow to his reputation for you.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “To protect me after Loki’s brainwashing?”

“Exactly,” Fury says. His smile is twisted and Tony _knows_ he’s hiding something. And not just because he’s Fury and Fury’s always hiding something.

Beside him, Hill coughs. “Before we release you into Agent Barton’s custody—”

“You’re handing me over to _Clint?_ ” Tony blurts out. They ignore him.

“—there are a few things we need to go over. I need the locations of each and every one of your safehouses. Coordinates, Mr. Stark.”

“I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. accessed those ages ago?” Tony says, just to watch them squirm. He knows full well they can’t have—nearest major city is the most accurate they’re going to get with Tony’s security. And a lot of those are fakes.

“We believe you and Loki used several of these remote hideouts while you were under his… control,” Hill says, wrinkling her nose. “It’s better if you come clean, Tony.”

“You can always rebuild them somewhere else later,” Fury adds, and Tony stares at him, wondering what the hell happened to make Nick Fury willing to encourage him to keep secrets.

_Strange times._

Tony rolls his shoulders. “Fine. I don’t remember all of them, going to have to access—”

“ _No,_ ” Fury interrupts, sliding a pad of paper and a pen across the table. “I know you’ve memorized every single digit of every single hideout you’ve got. And you’re going to write them down for me.”

He frowns and taps the pen against the paper. It’s a reasonable request, he thinks. Reasonable, but they seem desperate for the information. Which means Tony’s got the upper hand, and he wonders how Fury could’ve made such a rookie mistake.

“Fine,” Tony says. “But I want something in return. I want every file you have on the year I missed.”

“I’ll give you the first day,” Fury counters. “The day Loki… took over your mind. That’s the answer you really want.”

Tony writes down the coordinates of his first two safehouses. He hasn’t been back there in a decade; neither are very comfortable and, knowing Loki, the God probably wouldn’t have stepped foot in the dusty, mildewy buildings. He slides the paper to Fury.

“I get those files, you get the rest of my safehouses,” he says. Fury nods.

Hill’s out the door first, heels clacking frantically as she bolts. Fury rises slowly, his one good eye fixed on Tony’s face.

“I’ll get you the files, Mr. Stark,” he says. “But I’m warning you, you’re probably not going to like what’s inside.”

Tony laughs. “I don’t doubt it. Doesn’t change anything.”

Fury smiles at that, and it sends a cold wave of foreboding through Tony. Maybe—maybe it’s better to stay ignorant. Loki certainly seemed to think so. But then, in Tony’s experience, anything that Loki wanted generally turned out being fatal (or _near-_ fatal) to Tony. So really, it was better to ignore him.

He couldn’t be trusted.

Except.

“Hey, Stark. Ready to go back to your cell?”

Tony glances up. Barton’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and expression decidedly neutral. He shrugs and stands, spreading his arms wide. “Lead the way.”

Barton walks a few paces in front, and two guards walk behind. Tony’s not cuffed—he guesses Barton doesn’t think it’s necessary, and without the Iron Man suit, it’s not. And Tony’s decided to play ball, at least for now. At least until he has some kind of idea what to expect from this brave new world where—

It hits him like a load of bricks and Tony marvels at himself.

“So, Barton,” he says casually. “Guess I’m joining the Mind-Controlled By Loki club. You and Selvig have meetings?”

“No,” Barton says tersely. “And there’s no _club._ Just… forgetting it ever happened.”

“Way ahead of you there,” Tony says. “But I’m guessing you don’t mean _literally._ ”

“I don’t know why you don’t remember, and frankly, I don’t care, Barton says. “And don’t think we have some kind of… don’t think we can _bond_ over this. Loki ripped my mind apart, Stark. I could _feel_ him in there, clawing at my thoughts, shoving himself in between memories.”

They stop in front of Tony’s cell and Barton half-shoves him inside before locking the door. “Don’t ever think you and I have something in common,” he continues. “Don’t think you understand. Not after—”

Then he’s gone, and Tony can only stare wide-eyed at the bars of his cage and wonder, _what the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all reading and for the lovely comments! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Tony’s not sure what he expected when Fury agreed to hand over the file on Tony’s brainwashing. Statements from his team—from his _former_ team—maybe. Surveillance video, screencaps of Tony’s eyes turning ice-blue. Recommendation for course of action. The kill order. _Something._

Instead, Fury hands over two pages. Half the text is redacted, but from what Tony can make out, Loki showed up _completely_ out of the blue, punched Steve Rogers, and somehow turned Tony to his side. There’s a pull-quote from Steve’s debrief, a small description of Tony glowing, and the line _“he seemed at peace”_ that twists Tony’s insides. The debrief itself is not in the file. Nobody else’s is even mentioned.

He closes the file and hands it back through the bars.

“You’re going to have to do a _lot_ better than that,” he says. Fury raises his eyebrow and takes the file, gloved hand brushing against Tony’s fingers, and Tony fights not to recoil.

“It’s all here, Mr. Stark,” Fury says smoothly. “This is what happened.”

“Bullshit. S.H.I.E.L.D. loves debriefing people. You sent three agents to drag me in last time I skipped out on one. So, where are they? Where’s everyone else’s statements?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t give away my safehouses for a few vague sentences and a lot of black bars.”

Fury opens the file and looks at the pages, like he’s actually considering them. “But that’s exactly what you did, Stark. You knew Loki wasn’t going to be at those houses—you knew _nobody’s_ been there in ten years. I want real information, and so do you. Keep giving me nothing, and nothing’s what you’re going to get.”

He tosses the folder on the floor and checks his watch. “I’ll be back in one hour. Make up your mind. What’s more important? Safehouses you can always rebuild somewhere else, or finding out how Loki grabbed your strings?”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest and glares. It’s petulant, he knows, throwing a tantrum because Fury broke their arrangement ( _since when is Fury honest anyway_ ) but he doesn’t care. Logically he knows they have no reason to trust him—hell, he didn’t trust Barton for weeks after his own encounter with Loki’s hypnostick, and if he’s brutally honest, he still wasn’t quite there when he got chucked into the future.

And now _he’s_ the one who’s been brainwashed and yeah, he doesn’t blame them for locking him up.

It’s the fact that _no one will give him answers_ that really grates.

If he blew up an orphanage, invaded France, blasted Ke$ha on all frequencies for a week straight, he’d like to know. So he can start making it right, if he even can, and so he knows exactly what his former team’s looking at when they turn nervous eyes on him.

Fury likes his secrets. Tony’s well aware. But when those secrets are about _him—_

“Or you could just go right to the source.”

Tony nearly jumps out of his skin. “ _Jesus._ Don’t _do_ that.” It should be odd that he’s giving Loki orders, and he waits for Loki to take offense, but the god just offers him a small smile and shakes his head.

“Sorry, I forgot you can’t—sense me, anymore, when I’m close.”

“I could before?”

Loki nods. It makes sense, Tony thinks. If they were psychically linked, he would’ve known when Loki was close. Somehow, though, he knows that’s not exactly what Loki meant. Tony shakes his head and squints at him.

No armor again, and this time, no leathers. He’s in plain black pants and a dark green tunic and sits like one might in jeans and a t-shirt. Which, for Loki, this is probably a fair equivalent.

His hair isn’t slicked back, either. It’s soft and fluffy and Loki’s wearing a gold circlet (remnants from his former life as Prince of Asgard?) and it’s comfortable seeing him like this. Which isn’t odd at all—of course the only people Loki could let his guard down around would be his thralls.

Which begs the question, _why isn’t Loki re-enchanting him?_

“What makes you think I haven’t tried?” Loki counters when Tony accidentally blurts that question out. Tony doesn’t have an answer. “The enchantment’s broken. It can’t be reapplied.”

“So why do you care if I know what happened?”

“That’s assuming I’ll tell the truth,” Loki says, his mischievous smile widening. “Suppose I’m simply feeding you lies for my own amusement.”

“Beats sitting around in here alone.”

Loki nods. The lines around his eyes smooth out and his expression softens, his smile shifting from wide smirk to something _real._ Tony’s breath catches, and he feels the strangest urge to press his fingers to Loki’s temple and feel the tension draining away.

 _The desire to please your master,_ he reminds himself, and has to stifle a laugh. _His master_.

“Come with me,” Loki says. He holds out a hand, and where the tunic falls away from his wrist, Tony can see the twisted lines of burn-scar. He glances up at Loki’s face, questioning, and Loki raises an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. You’ve forgotten that story, as well. No matter. It’s a good one, and I should like telling it again. Along with the tale of how I ensnared the great Anthony Stark’s mind and made him my willing slave.”

There’s something about the frankness of Loki’s words that troubles him. Of course, Loki would find slavery amusing—he certainly seemed to think making Barton do whatever he wanted was _hilarious_ —but. It’s not just that Loki thinks it’s funny. He thinks it’s _preposterous._ And that’s enough for Tony to fold his hand over Loki’s and hold on tight as all his organs are sucked out through his navel.

~ * ~

“ _What the hell?_ ” He’s kneeling on sand, his entire body is on fire, and Loki is standing above him and sighing. “Maybe a little warning next time?”

“My apologies,” says Loki, who doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “I forgot you aren’t accustomed to this mode of travel. You have forgotten all the other times we used it together, and your body became well-equipped to handle it. Though I suppose with the removal of your memories—”

“Yeah, great, _whatever,_ ” Tony grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet and bites back a scream as his bones rearrange themselves. “You said you’d give me answers.”

Loki doesn’t respond. Instead, he gestures across the sand, at the clear blue ocean spreading out before them. The sun is just starting to descend, and Tony can taste salt in the warm breeze.

“Where are we?”

Again, Loki doesn’t answer. He smiles that infuriatingly soft, familiar smile, and turns away from the ocean. There’s a small shack on the tree-line, though _shack_ is perhaps not the right word. As Tony approaches, he notes it’s about the size of an average two-story house and has been designed to look like it’s been made out of driftwood without actually being _made_ out of driftwood.

“I don’t remember this safehouse,” Tony says.

“It’s new,” Loki says. “We were concerned your other ones might be compromised, so… I had this built.” He frowns. “It was your birthday, if I recall correctly. You were quite upset I forgot.”

Tony blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, because you always remember your brainwashed minions’ birthdays.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps I lie. It might have been Presidents’ Day, or the anniversary of my failed takeover of Earth. It might have been no day in particular. Does it really matter?”

He shrugs. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t, but the important thing here is Loki apparently built him a _very_ nice safehouse on what seems to be a deserted island. He wonders if he told Loki about that time when he was nine and read _Robinson Crusoe_ and decided he wanted to be shipwrecked. He’s not sure if it was the solitude he craved or the freedom or the chance to build things from nothing (all of which he had in _spades_ ) or if he just wanted Howard to notice he was gone. His father had completely lost it when he found out, and it wasn’t until a few years later that Tony learned the whole _shipwreck_ thing was too reminiscent of Steve Rogers lost in the ice for Howard to bear.

(Tony’s deserted-island survival fantasies persisted up until Afghanistan. Say what you will, Tony Stark likes his basic comforts. That Loki built him this place gnaws at him. He’s not sure what it means. Maybe, he thinks, he was a favorite pet and this is Loki’s version of a ten-million-dollar doghouse.)

“I think we should have this conversation inside,” Loki continues. He strides ahead, long legs easily outpacing Tony, and he struggles to catch up. He _hates_ walking through sand, hates how his shoes always seem to get stuck and sink and he trips over shells and Loki still manages to look utterly dignified. Tony kind of hates him for that.

Not that Tony doesn’t already hate him for a hundred other things, like trying to take over Earth and unleashing an army that nearly destroyed New York and throwing Tony out a window and turning his tower into a portal and making a giant crater in his living room and—

And brainwashing him.

Which, come to think of it, makes being here alone with the guy on a _deserted island_ not one of Tony’s brighter ideas.

But, hey. He already lost over a year of his memories. He’s apparently done some pretty messed-up shit in that time, not that anyone will actually _tell_ him what he did. Being with Loki here is risky, sure, but at least he’s willing to give Tony _answers._

Which will probably all be blatant lies.

Also, it’s much easier to distrust him when he’s in leather and gold-plated armor and that ridiculous helmet, carrying around a spear and demanding people kneel before him. When he’s like this, _casual_ , it’s a lot easier to see him as just a regular guy. Except for the whole God thing, and the fact that he’s still wearing a goddamn tiara.

(It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice that this is probably Loki’s plan. Lull him into complacency with Casual Friday, then take him to a secluded place and re-enslave his mind. There’s probably all kinds of crazy brainwashing machinery in the shack. Like something out of _Frankenstein_ , because Loki’s the kind of guy to like the classic theatrics. And Tony follows him inside because he also likes the classics and wonders which version Loki likes best.)

What he _does_ find in the shack is… well, not Dr. Frankenstein’s lab.

He walks in to see a full bar, a few soft-looking couches, and a room off to the side with the door half-open and a giant four-poster canopy bed. Not really his style, which is curious. Must be Loki’s bed. The dog-bed is probably on the other side, out of view. Loki wouldn’t want him too far out of sight.

Control freak.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Loki asks, and Tony can’t help laughing.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

Loki inclines his head. “For now, I am the host and you, my guest.” He lifts a barrel onto the counter and sets to work cracking it open.

“Seriously?”

“Asgardian mead,” Loki murmurs. “Strange; I hated it when they pretended I was one of them, but now I find I miss it.” Tony doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. He sits on one of the sofas, folds his hands in his lap, unfolds them, folds them again, watches Loki fill two tankards, watches him glide over and sit primly next to Tony.

Tony grabs his tankard and takes a long drink. It’s—not bad. Not anything Tony’s used to, and yet, it’s kind of familiar. He wonders if Loki allowed him to drink it. “Well?” he says, putting his drink down. “You promised answers. So start talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for all the wonderful comments! I'm completely blown away and thrilled people are enjoying this. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, Tony finally gets some answers.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and kudos'ing. :)

Loki bows his head at Tony’s request, tracing his fingers along the rim of his tankard as he seems to gather his thoughts. Every muscle in Tony’s body feels strained, and his hands itch in the cool air—it feels as though he’s about to take flight and without the suit, he’s naked.

It occurs to him that thinking about being _naked_ in Loki’s presence is probably not the best idea.

“Very well,” Loki says, smirking like he can read Tony’s mind. He wonders if there’s a lingering telepathic bond. Not that Loki would tell him if there _were._ “I suppose I should start with the spell. It’s a very exciting tale, really, and I must say I was quite clever obtaining it from those… _hags._ In the end, it cost me naught but a few trinkets. Your International Space Station hasn’t missed them, so I believe the trade was… clean, as you’d say.”

“ _Hags?_ ” Tony asks. He chooses to ignore Loki stealing bits of the ISS.

“Witches. Fond of _grabbing_ and far cleverer when it comes to torture than those beastly Chitauri.” Loki smiles. It’s almost fond, and Tony shudders. “Anyway, they took my offering and half a pound of flesh and I had my spell.”

Tony shakes his head and takes another long gulp of mead. “All that just to brainwash little old me?”

Loki’s smile goes a little twisted at that. “Ah, no. My intention was to build an army of thralls. I had not counted that the witches might be just as adept at wordplay and deceit as I.” He shrugs. “I chose to try out my little charm on you first, as I had failed so embarrassingly to enchant you during the invasion. And because I felt you would make a fine general.”

“And then it turned out you’d used up all your juice,” Tony finishes. Loki nods, pleased. “So you were stuck with just me.”

“Which suited me fine,” Loki says. “The last day you can recall—that was the day I enchanted you. The day you woke to find your memories gone would have been the one-year anniversary of your betrayal.”

Tony downs the rest of his mead and drops the tankard on the table. If what Loki says is true, then that means he spent months with his team, under Loki’s control, and they’d been none the wiser. He could have told Loki anything— _everything—_ could have given him access to the Tower, to S.H.I.E.L.D., to JARVIS—

“I had hoped to leave you there indefinitely, to carry on as though you were not under my spell,” Loki continues. He won’t look at Tony; instead, he stares into his nearly-full cup and rubs his thumb across the lip. “But we were discovered. I snuck in one night, and we must have gotten careless. There had been a great battle and my magic was thrumming loud in my veins, and we failed to shroud ourselves properly. Your captain was the first, followed by my brother and all the rest of them.”

“I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. was very happy,” Tony mutters. Loki shrugs.

“It took me two weeks to find you,” he says.

Tony hesitates, and Loki turns sharp green eyes on him.

“Speak, Tony Stark. What do you wish to know?”

As if the bastard isn’t fully aware. Still, Tony humors him, drumming his fingers nervously against his thigh as he struggles for the right words. “When they—took me. Where was I? What did they—think?”

“I found you in a dark, dank prison. You had been treated horribly, most likely in misguided attempts to deprogram you. You had a horrific concussion, and it was only my quick intervention that prevented permanent brain damage. There were—other injuries as well, signs of torture, sleep deprivation, starvation…” Loki’s eyes glint fiercely and his hands tighten on his cup. His voice turns harsh, and there’s a slight tremor in his words. “I have suffered greatly in my life, it is true, but all of those instances were well-deserved.”

Tony… doesn’t know what to do with that. He clears his throat. “So, S.H.I.E.L.D. are assholes. That’s nothing new.” He reminds himself that Loki could be lying, he could be exaggerating the extent of Tony’s treatment, he could be making things up entirely. He’s definitely a good enough liar to fake his struggle to reign in his anger.

Well, _probably._

To be fair, Tony doesn’t remember all those incidents of Loki showing off how damn talented his silver tongue is. Metaphorically. The _other_ metaphorically.

“So this is the second time you’ve broken me out of S.H.I.E.L.D. custody,” Tony says.

“Fifth, actually,” Loki responds. “There were three other occasions before the enchantment was broken by your _friends._ ” He spits the last word, and Tony wonders if it’s Loki’s hatred of the Avengers or if he simply sneers at the thought of having friends. Probably both.

“So after you rescued me the first time, we, what, went back to your lair and made evil plans?”

Loki shrugs. “Not to my _lair,_ no. I had been… between lairs, at the time.”

“Homeless,” Tony translates, and Loki glares at him. It makes Tony feel uncomfortable, like there’s something he’s missing. “Strange, I would have thought you’d have no trouble breaking into someone’s mansion.”

“I had no need. After our escape, we used _yours._ And then, yes, we made evil plans.” He grins widely. “You had a mind for it, Stark. It was beautiful. After more than a millennia of mischief, my own mind had grown stagnant, but yours—young and fresh and _full_ of potential. Such creativity, I could not—” he sighs. “But that is in the past.”

“What did I do?” Tony asks, and immediately regrets it.

“This and that,” Loki hedges. “Stories for another time.”

Which is annoying, but Tony doesn’t really want to hear them. As much as he dislikes S.H.I.E.L.D.’s clean, clinical accounts of horrific atrocities, he thinks maybe they’d be easier to digest than whatever grand tales Loki spins.

“One last thing,” Tony says. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “When we were—discovered. When my team found out I had been working with you. Did they—” _he doesn’t want to know, he knows already, there’s no other answer—_ “What did they think had happened?”

“That I had brainwashed you, clearly,” Loki says, eyebrow arched in surprise. “They’d never, ever think the great Tony Stark would work with a villain of his own free will.”

“Oh.” He glances down at his hands. He’d thought Loki would tell him that of course, the Avengers hadn’t been surprised—what else could they expect from Tony Stark, Merchant of Death and colossal screw-up? “So when we were caught having a conference…”

Loki laughs. “ _Conference._ I like that. Oh, we certainly had _conference._ ”

Tony’s eyes widen as Loki’s meaning hits him. “Did—oh, _Jesus,_ did you—”

“I would never consummate with one I controlled,” Loki nearly snarls. “What do you take me for?”

“But we did.” Loki says nothing. “We did, which means—which means—”

Loki looks terrified. “Stark, don’t. We didn’t. You were just a _slave._ My minion.”

“Yeah, a minion you build a goddamn beach house for.” Tony’s edging towards hysterical as his brain struggles to put the pieces together and _accept them._

“I brainwashed you. It’s over. You can go back to your Avengers, back to thwarting my evil plans. You weren’t in control. _I made you do everything._ ”

“No,” Tony says. It’s suddenly quiet. Loki is frozen on the sofa, his eyes wide, and Tony’s mind is blissfully calm. “I chose to go with you, didn’t I.”

It’s not a question. Loki’s continued silence, the slight dip of his head, is all the answer Tony needs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Interlude--shorter than I expected, but oh well.)
> 
> Once again, thank you all for the comments and kudos.

Clint hasn’t slept since they got Stark back. None of them have. Natasha keeps disappearing to meet with other agents, and though she always apologizes and always insists it’s nothing— _routine stuff, Clint, you know I just got back from Belize—_ he can hear _classified_ in her voice. _Above your clearance._

_You’re still compromised._

Bruce locked himself in a room after Fury took Stark to interrogation. Clint’s almost positive the room isn’t Hulk-proofed, but these days, that’s not such a concern. He’s seen the man’s control, and he knows Bruce is probably just in there meditating. (Still, he’s been in there a _while,_ so either his control is more strained than any of them know or Bruce is napping.)

Steve’s… well, he’s suited up, unlike the rest of them, and keeps ordering S.H.I.E.L.D. agents around. Really petty errands, too. Coffee runs. Requests for reports that Steve knows damn well he doesn’t have access to, but makes them double-check anyway. Once, while looking for the bathroom, Clint caught him attempting to take over training exercises. The agents were new recruits and they looked somewhere between awestruck and terrified as Captain America enthusiastically led them in jumping jacks. While holding his shield. And not removing his mask. It would’ve probably been really funny, Clint thinks, if it weren’t for the fact that he knows full well Steve hates being in the suit when he’s not fighting.

And then there’s Thor.

Clint wants to hate him. He _should._ Thor knows what Loki did, knows exactly how much horror the guy unleashed on the world and on _Clint_ and yet Thor insists Loki’s still his brother. Still loves the monster. Still thinks there’s some of the _old Loki_ deep in there somewhere. Which, going by the stories Thor’s told about their childhood, sounds a bit like Loki’s still the same Loki, just a little crazier and more prone to murder than killing the enemy in glorious battle and, frankly, Clint doesn’t see the difference. Death is death and killing is killing and glorious battles are won just as much with the right hand slicing the right throat and slipping silently away as they are with warriors bashing heads in.

But the _point_ is, Loki is evil and insane and he’s killed a lot of people and he broke into Clint’s head. And Thor forgives him. Doesn’t even ask if _Clint_ forgives him, or the millions whose lives Loki destroyed forgive him. Nope, Thor speaks for all of them. _Fuck that._

So, Clint should hate him.

Instead, Clint sits in a dim-lit hallway, knees pulled up to his chest, while Thor sits across from him and stares into space. He looks lost. Clint knows the feeling.

“I wonder,” Thor says at last, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Have we done the right thing after all?”

Clint glares at him. “Of course,” he snaps. “What, do you think we should’ve just… _let_ them?”

“Perhaps.” Thor rests his hand on Mjolnir, and even in the dim lighting, Clint can see he’s shaking. “Perhaps we should not have been so quick to judge.”

“You saw the same damn thing I did.”

Except he didn’t, none of them did, and _Loki’s_ the one who made their excuses. Lies, probably.

“Even if he wasn’t brainwashed—which I still don’t believe, I don’t care what kind of psychic crap you’ve got going on with your brother, I don’t believe for a second there wasn’t some kind of influence going on there—even so, Tony wasn’t in his right mind. And we were supposed to be his friends.”

“But if they were happy—”

“Who gives a fuck?” Clint snaps. “I remember being pretty damn happy when I was Loki’s pet. Hell, when he told me to kill people I was fucking _elated._ Anything for my master, right?”

Thor looks pained. “I am—I do not have the words to express how sorry I am for what my brother did to you.” Clint snorts. “Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel that once again, I have destroyed any chance for peace.”

“ _Peace?_ The guy’s a force of chaos.” Clint shakes his head. “Anyway, he’s evil. He’s not suddenly going to shake your hand and join the good fight because he’s fucking Iron Man.”

“Not my peace,” Thor says. “ _His._ The chance for Loki to have peace.” He folds his hands over his hammer and sighs. “Loki’s not a child. He made his choices. There is no reason for me to feel guilty, and yet, he is my younger brother. Every day, I wonder what I could have done differently, what I could have changed to keep him from—“ Thor shakes his head. “But it’s futile.”

“Loki’s just batshit,” Clint agrees. Thor looks annoyed, for a brief moment, then ducks his head.

“Perhaps.”

Clint tilts his head back against the wall. “So you would’ve given them your _blessing._ ”

“They wouldn’t have asked it of me.”

“But if they _had,_ ” Clint says.

“It’s been a strange year, Agent Barton,” Thor says, which isn’t an answer at all and yet perfectly sums up this entire mess. Clint snorts.

Through the wall, Clint can hear heavy footsteps bang down the long corridors. Most of S.H.I.E.L.D. is soundproof, which means that whatever’s going on is _bad,_ to require such a force of agents pounding towards—

_Tony’s cell._

Thor realizes it a second after Clint does, and in an instant they’re on their feet and tearing down the hall. Clint can barely breathe past the fear and dread burning in his lungs, and he almost doesn’t want to see what’s happened—Tony’s body limp and lifeless behind bars, Loki’s knife digging into his side, dark blood drying on the hard concrete—Loki’s wicked smile— _how dare you take him from me—_ Loki’s lips brushing against Tony’s frozen mouth—

When they finally do reach Tony’s cell, Clint almost shouts in relief. _Nothing._ No Loki, no blood, no broken body—

_No body at all._

_Nothing._

The cell’s empty.

One of the agents keys open the cell door and declares it untampered-with. The alarm would have sounded the second anyone unauthorized tried to unlock it.

“He can… move swiftly, from place to place, appear and disappear on either side of a locked door,” Thor murmurs. Of course. The fucker can teleport. He’d almost forgotten.

“Fuck,” Clint breathes, and nearly trips over Thor as Vivinni comes shoving him out of the way.

The sorcerer kneels in the middle of Tony’s cell, palms pressed to the floor, and begins to chant. Someone behind Clint snorts.

“Italian,” Natasha says, tapping her fingers against her arm. “He’s reciting a pop song from the late 90s.”

“Seriously?” Clint shakes his head. “What are we even _doing_ with this guy?”

“Well, to be fair, I’m pretty sure the singer was in league with some kind of dark forces,” Natasha says. “She even dated Amora for awhile.”

“As for _what we’re doing with this guy,_ ” Nick Fury says, sweeping into the room like a cloud of black leather, “he did manage to break Loki’s hold on Stark.”

“He wiped Tony’s memory,” Clint points out. “That part wasn’t in the plan.”

Fury eyes him, then the others, daring them to challenge. “A fortunate side-effect, then.”

Clint frowns and crosses his arms. “You all really should’ve let me shoot this dick when I had the chance,” he says. “You know, before _everything else_ went to hell.”

“It probably would’ve gone to hell anyway,” Natasha says, and it’s almost comforting. “Come on. They’ve got this mess under control, so unless you’re planning on using the guards for target practice—”

“Not a bad idea,” Clint mutters. She ignores him.

“—we should probably get _out of their way_.”

Clint grumbles, but reluctantly allows her to lead him away. She’s right, he thinks. There’s nothing he can do.

Not here, anyway.

He catches her hand brushing against Fury’s duster as they leave, and the glint of silver in her palm.

“What are you planning?” he whispers. She smiles a little.

“Just a bit of fresh air.”

Unfortunately, the command center is between them and the hangar, and Captain America (shield and all) is patrolling the corridors.

“Steve, what are you doing?” Clint asks without thinking. The Captain stops and looks at him like he’s suddenly reciting Vivinni’s pop song, like Steve doesn’t recognize his own name. Then his shoulders drop and he sighs.

“Just making myself useful,” he says. “I’m not a fan of waiting around and now that Tony’s gone missing—”

“Great, well, me and Nat are going to go find him, okay? So just let us through and—”

The shield comes up. “How?”

“Classified,” Natasha says and Clint stifles a hysterical laugh. _That’s what we’ll be when Fury discovers we stole his plane._

“Do you even know where to look?”

“I have an idea,” Clint mutters. They stare at him and Clint shifts uncomfortably. “I… may remember a few things. From Loki’s brain. I mean most of the time it was a hurricane of crazy and pain and more crazy and daddy issues but I know the kinds of places he likes.”

Steve nods. “Then I’m coming with you,” he says. “I know—or I knew—what Tony likes. I mean I know we weren’t with the guy for very long before he ran off and half of that time he was already betraying us but I like to think at least some of that wasn’t a complete lie.”

“I don’t know—“

“Agent Romanoff, the only way I’m letting you pass is if I come along.”

A shadow of a smile creeps over her face. “Fine,” she says. “I could use another pilot. Sorry, Clint, but your sense of direction is terrible.” She spins Fury’s keys on her fingers. “Well, Captain, shall we find our plane?”

“Lead the way, Agent.” Steve tucks his index and middle fingers under his mask and pulls the thing off. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

 _Me too,_ Clint thinks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. IT'S AN UPDATE. HOLY SHIT.
> 
> That's right, I'm back from my seven-month-or-whatever hiatus. Oh yeah, baby.
> 
> \o/

The minutes tick by. There's an old grandfather clock in the corner, and it's apparently set to 10:43 even though it's late afternoon, and the thing is so loud Tony wishes he had his suit, or at least his repulsors, so he could blast it to pieces and maybe blast Loki into the debris for good measure.

He hasn't figured out what he wants to do with the information Loki's given him. The guy lies, it's what he _does_ , but... As much as he wants to believe Loki's lying about the past year, he can't. He doesn't know how he knows it, maybe the memory-wipe wasn't as complete as his friends thought, but he knows. He chose to go with Loki. Something happened, something _huge_ , and Tony walked out on his friends and right into the arms of a mass-murdering god.

And that's another thing. His _friends_. He still doesn't know what happened. Loki's out on the veranda, staring at the ocean, and he's been out there since his admission and Tony subsequently throwing his glass into the wall.

(Bad fucking idea, because now he can't throw it at that infernal clock and its endless _ticking_ that reminds Tony of Afghanistan and mines and shrapnel piercing his chest.)

The point is, Tony doesn't know what happened. If he believes Loki, his friends had him imprisoned and tortured and maybe that was an attempt to break Loki's control or maybe they were treating him like another villain with free will. And then they had his memory wiped and _lied_ to him (or didn't lie, they could've believed that story) and it's all such a mess.

“I have another question,” Tony says as Loki comes back inside. Loki pauses, halfway through the door, and for a second Tony thinks he's going to bolt again. Instead, Loki slides the door shut behind him and comes to perch on the edge of the sofa. “I want to know... I want to know about our evil plans. Was I supposed to be your queen once you won the Earth?”

Loki laughs. “No. I suggested it, many times, but you would give me the most unimpressed look. And then you would make me forget my suggestion. I gave up my desire to control this planet a long time ago.”

“So, what? We just drank margaritas and fucked on the beach all day?”

“No. We—we did come up with plans, but they were not to take over Midgard.”

Loki is the most infuriating creature Tony has ever met, and he has the patience of a starving man waiting for a Hot Pocket to microwave. “Elaborate.”

“We were going to storm Asgard.” Loki grins, all teeth and just the slightest edge of crazy. “I was going to take what is rightfully mine. Thor can have Midgard; he has named himself protector and can go gallivanting with mortals for the next thousand millenia for all I care. But I was led, all my life, to believe I could become King of Asgard if I—if I could just be _worthy_ of it. It was a lie, but it was a _good_ lie, and I want to make Father—make _everyone_ —eat their words.”

Loki's chest is heaving and his eyes are wild, and Tony just kind of stares at him. Well. That was quite an outburst, and Tony suspects Loki's been holding that speech back for awhile. He wonders if they ever sat like this, Tony on the couch nursing a drink and Loki beside him waving his hands and perfecting his speeches. The mental image is almost disgustingly cozy.

Tony coughs. “So,” he manages. “You wanted me to be queen of Asgard.”

Loki freezes for a moment, then laughs. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I did.”

“And I was going to help you storm the realm of the gods and put you on the throne.”

“It was an odd year,” Loki says, shrugging. “I cannot begin to understand what goes through your mind sometimes. Perhaps you were only assisting my plans in the hopes of placating me until I discovered I was satisfied enough with, as you said, _drinking margaritas and fucking on the beach._ ”

And damn him if Loki saying _fucking_ doesn't provoke some instinctual Pavlovian reaction in Tony's pants. He shudders and crosses his legs. “Was it working?”

“Maybe it was.”

There's silence between them then, because Tony has no idea what else to say and Loki's looking kind of embarrassed at this whole thing, and Tony really wants his drink back. He wants his memory back too, and his life, and the Iron Man suit, but right now he'd settle for some scotch and maybe a few minutes to mull over the fact that, apparently, he made an insane god fall in love with him.

It's a testament to how completely _fucked_ Tony's life is that he's entirely unsurprised when he doesn't get so much as a couple seconds before the roar of a plane flying way too close to the ground fills the little beach house, and Tony's up and running outside before Loki can grab his arm and teleport them away.

He shields his eyes from the sand being kicked up around the jet and scowls at the three figures getting off. Natasha, Clint, Steve. No sign of Thor and Bruce, which Tony's not sure whether to be glad of or not. He waves anyway. They don't wave back. Natasha's holding her gun at her side, but her finger's not on the trigger; Clint holds his bow, but he hasn't cocked an arrow; Steve holds his shield in front of him. Tony supposes it could be worse.

“How'd you find me?” Tony asks.

“You have our secrets, we have ours,” Clint says, and Tony doesn't miss the way his eyebrow twitches significantly. Suggesting Clint used some residual post-brainwashing telepathic whatever to find them, which just makes Tony feel kind of awful.

“I'm sorry about all this. I was going to make Loki take me back as soon as he was done telling me stories about the past year. All lies, probably, but I doubt I'd get much better out of Fury.”

“What has he been telling you?” Steve asks. Tony shrugs.

“Oh, this and that. How he brainwashed me. How you all tried to save me—the first time, anyway, thanks for the vote of confidence—and how I was all too willing to carry out his evil plans. He was just about to tell me what they were when you all showed up to save me.”

“Where is he?” Natasha asks.

Tony glances over his shoulder, back at the beach house. If Loki has any sense of self-preservation, he's probably gone. But Tony knows he's still there. “Gone,” he says. “Or at least, I assume he didn't want to stay for the arrival of the cavalry.”

“You know we're going to have to take you back into custody,” Steve says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. still has some questions for you. And we need to make sure there haven't been any... adverse effects.”

Tony wants to scream in his face. He wants to ask what the hell Steve means by _adverse effects_ , whether he means effects from the supposed brainwashing or from his friends wiping his memory of the past year. He wants to drag everyone into a room and threaten to keep them there until they tell him what really happened (Loki included, because Tony doesn't for a second believe everything Loki's told him is true). He wants to demand to know what made him go off with Loki in the first place, what drove him to leave behind the one thing that made him feel like he wasn't a total fuck-up, what caused him to... to end up here, on a remote island with a supervillain who loves him and friends who hate him and a world somewhere that might be radically different and might just have a few new movies and pop songs and otherwise be unchanged.

“Fine,” he says instead. “On one condition.”

“You don't get to make _conditions_ ,” Clint spits.

Steve waves his hand. “What is your condition?”

“I want to see New York. I want you to take me to Stark Tower, or whatever Stark Tower is now, and I want to see the city. You say it's been a year. I want to see for myself what's changed.” He doesn't expect much, not really, but the state of the city will at least give him something to work with. Either New York is exactly as he remembered it, or it's a chrome-plated futuristic utopia, or it's a smoking crater. Or it's somewhere between those three. And the state of Stark Tower itself will tell him something as well.

The three exchange glances, which tells him something as well—something _has_ changed, and Tony's responsible. They're not sure if he should see it. If Tony's reading their apprehension right, anyway. Maybe they just think Tony has booby-trapped Stark Tower or he's planning to escape again or something.

“Agreed,” Steve says at last. Tony grins.

“Excellent,” he says, and heads toward the plane. “Well? You guys coming?”

He hears Natasha mutter something that sounds like “This is a terrible idea” before she boards behind him, but he ignores it. They've agreed, and he's going to see New York, and maybe that'll help him piece the year back together.

Maybe.

Tony's learned not to depend too much on hope.


End file.
